


It's all elementary my friend

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pure pointless fluff, badly communicated feelings, council table sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6009561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 13 clans may be at peace, but when King Roan demands that Bellamy be sent to the Ice Nation as the Skaikru's ambassador, Clarke suspects a hidden agenda. Her attempt to keep Bellamy safe leads to misunderstandings, a long-overdue confession - and maybe, finally, a chance at happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's all elementary my friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I ever wrote all-out smut (with feelings), and I kind of love how it turned out but the story I had planned around it didn’t work at all. So I reworked it into a one-shot, and now it’s just basically Bellarke bickering their way to a declaration of love. Takes place at some point after Season 3.

****

“You don’t trust me.”

Glaring at her over the council table, Bellamy practically spits the words at her, anger in his voice but hurt in his eyes, and Clarke hates that her attempt to protect him has made him think she doesn’t trust him – nothing could be further from the truth.

“I do trust you.”

“Not enough to send me to a grounder council, apparently. And I get it – I know what I did, what I helped Pike do…. But you could at least have the courtesy to say it to my face.”

“Bellamy, you know I understand why you felt you had to do that.” It’s been a long, hard road to a point where he wasn’t crushed by guilt over his role in Pike’s war anymore, and Clarke hates that he thinks she’s still holding that particular mistake against him – as if she, of all people, had any right to judge him. “And that is not the reason why I don’t want you at that council.”

“Then what is it? Why the hell won’t you let me go to with Roan’s ambassador?”

“Because I don’t want you anywhere near him, okay?”

It’s been an hour since the Ice Nation’s ambassador left, but Clarke can still feel the panic clawing at her insides that first fell upon her when the woman mentioned that Roan had very specifically demanded that she send Bellamy to his court as her ambassador. Lexa’s words rung in her ears at that moment, about how the Queen of Azgeda had once sent the Commander her lover’s head in a box. 

What if Roan decides to take a page out of his mother’s book? There is no reason for him to specifically demand Bellamy as an ambassador. The two men barely know each other, and while Roan has probably heard of Bellamy’s contributions to their victory over Mount Weather and the destruction of ALIE, Clarke has a feeling there’s something else behind his request, and she does not like it one bit. The new King of Azgeda is as smart as he is ruthless, and Clarke wouldn’t put it past him to want leverage over her even now that they’re officially allies.

And Bellamy, she thinks as she looks at him and her stomach clenches, Bellamy would be the _perfect_ leverage against her. After all, Roan has witnessed it first-hand all those weeks ago when he captured her and Bellamy tried to intervene: If there’s one thing that will make the feared Wanheda beg for mercy, it’s a threat to Bellamy’s life. Roan caught on to something Clarke is only now starting to piece together from little clues herself: from the way Bellamy always stands a little closer to her than others, from the reassuring little touches he gives her when things get difficult, from the looks they exchange before making important decisions and the very different looks Clarke sometimes catches him giving her when he thinks she’s not watching.

She can’t let Bellamy go to the Azgeda’s council, but she also can’t tell him why.

“Because you’re needed here, okay? Someone else can go talk to Roan, or maybe I should go myself just to let them know how important the alliance is to me.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is now – I’m too lowly to make a diplomatic statement?”

Clarke stifles a sigh, wondering if he’s being obstinate on purpose. Probably. “No. That’s not how it is. That’s never how it was and never how it will be. We’re doing this together, remember?”

She can hear her voice getting shrill, desperate to get through to him without things escalating into yet another fight. It sometimes feels like they’ve done nothing but fight for the first weeks after her return from Polis, and even though they’re finally back on the same page, it still feels like there’s something between them, something in the things they haven’t said even after hours of pouring their hearts out, confessing all their fears and absolving each other of their guilt. And it’s becoming clearer and clearer to Clarke what that unsaid thing is, but she has no idea how to say it.

“Yeah, well I’m not really getting _together_ from the way you’re acting right now.”

“Maybe you’re going to have to trust me and just do as I say for once.” Clarke is starting to get irritated, worried the Azgeda alliance will fail before it even really takes off and that she’s made yet another mistake in trusting a grounder. And now not only is Bellamy being dragged into all of this as well but he’s being infuriatingly difficult and she just wants to lock him into his room until the envoy has left for Roan’s court without him. And then she wants to sleep for three days straight, knowing that for once the people she loves are safe.  

But of course, Bellamy won’t just drop it. His jaw set in that stubborn way that spells trouble, he starts circling the round council table to end up on her side of it, sending the last straggling council member scrambling from the room with his angry glare. The door closes after the exiting councillor with a soft hiss, leaving behind tension so thick Clarke can almost taste it.

“It’s for your own safety.” After all, didn’t they have a similar conversation before, ages ago? And wasn’t he willing to stay behind when she told him she couldn’t lose him? Maybe it will work a second time.

“My own… Clarke, I can deal with a bunch of grounders.”

“You know the Azgeda are more brutal and bloodthirsty than the other clans.”

He scoffs, no doubt about to tell her he’s more than ready to take on the Ice Nation’s warriors, thank you very much, and Clarke just kind of… loses it.

“And besides, Roan knows, okay? He knows that I… that you…”

Clarke trips over her own tongue, unable to get the words out. After all they’ve been through, shouldn’t this be easier? But this is anything but easy, and it’s not helping _at all_ that Bellamy is coming even closer, forcing her to step back until she’s stopped short when the back of her thighs bump into the edge of the table.

“What does Roan know, Clarke? What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m afraid he’ll use you against me.”

There, it’s out. Clarke lets out a breath of relief. Surely he won’t make her spell it out now?

Of course, that is exactly what Bellamy does.

“Why would he think he can do that?”

“You know why.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, and there’s another flare of irritation at how he manages to make her sound so weak and scared just by looking at her like this, as if she was holding something that could make or break his happiness if only she could make herself hand it over to him.

Bellamy tilts his head, neither denying nor confirming her statement. He takes another step closer instead, effectively trapping her against the table.  Well, not really trapping – she’s sure if she pushed past him, he wouldn’t stop her.

“I want to hear you say it.”

He would seem perfectly composed if it weren’t for the slight tremble in his voice, and somehow, that sign of insecurity reassures her. Bellamy wants her to tell him exactly how she feels, not to torture her but because jumping to the wrong conclusion would be beyond painful, and she understands that. And if anyone deserves to hear that someone cares about them, it’s Bellamy. So she takes a deep breath, forces herself to hold his eyes and says:

“Because I love you.”

She stretches up to press the softest kiss to his lips, allowing herself to linger just long enough to realize how long she wanted to do this. Then she forces herself to draw back and look at him. She’s put her cards on the table, now all she can do is wait for his reaction.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much of a reaction at all: Bellamy freezes completely, almost comically, and just stares at her with a look of complete shock on his face, remaining quiet for an uncomfortably long time. She thought this was what he wanted to hear, maybe hoped he’d say the same thing back. But given his reaction, Clarke is suddenly not too sure about that anymore, and she swallows nervously at the thought that she may have misjudged the situation.

“Bellamy? Now would be a good time to say something.”

He doesn’t – he kisses her instead, hard and hungry, the force of his sudden movement pushing her back against the table before she can catch on and put her arms around his neck, relief washing over her. Threading her fingers through his hair, Clarke meets his lips and tongue and hands with equal fervour.

It’s as if some kind of dam has broken within both of them, spilling out everything that they’ve held back for so long, and Clarke can only hold on to him and hope she won’t drown in its current as he grips her ass and lifts her onto the table. He steps in between her legs immediately, neatly filling up the space between her thighs, and Clarke curses the stiff material of her pants that keep her from feeling him against her. But even with the barrier between them, the heat that shoots through her from the contact is enough to make her press herself against him as firmly as she can. Breaking away from the kiss, she lets her lips ghost up the side of his neck and cherishes the tiny bit of friction when his hips jerk into her.

“Clarke…”  

Smirking, she pulls back to look at him. “What?”

“If you intend to take this slow, I suggest we stop now.”

She returns her lips to his neck and gasps when it elicits the same reaction as before, his growing erection pushing promisingly against her. When he repeats the movement, grinding into her slowly and deliberately, she hooks her hand around the back of his neck, whether to pull him even closer or just to have something to hold on to she’s not sure herself.

“We’ve taken it slow enough, don’t you think?”

And then his lips crash onto hers once more and he pushes her back, cradling her head with one hand just before it hits the table. Clarke’s hands, meanwhile, are busy tugging up the hem of his shirt because if they’re going to do this they might as well do it right, and because she may have wondered, once or twice, if his skin is as smooth to the touch as it looks. Letting her hands glide up along with his shirt, she notes with amazement that it is indeed.

When the shirt snags on his arms, he straightens up to help her pull it off and throw it to the side. Letting his eyes slide over her torso, he whines in mock complaint:

“So you get to keep your clothes, is that how it’s going to be?”

“Not if you do something about it.” Clarke raises a challenging eyebrow, and from his feral expression, she’s afraid for a moment that he’ll just rip her one good shirt straight off. Instead, he lets his hands rest lightly on the hem of the garment for a few heartbeats before slowly moving upwards, his fingertips pushing away the cloth barrier so that his palms come to rest directly on her skin. Clarke gasps at the contact, his calloused hands a stimulating contrast to the soft, sensitive skin of her abdomen, and he stops on his way up and swipes his thumbs outward from her bellybutton once, twice as if conducting an experiment. 

When she reacts with a delighted shiver, he grins and leans down, breathing hotly over her skin before pressing kisses to her stomach, the softest part of her even after months of physical exertion have made her arms and legs lean and strong. She sighs blissfully when his lips start making their way upwards, and arches off the table so he can push off her shirt. While she’s at it, Clarke unhooks her bra too and slips off the straps, ready to speed the process up further, but her movement has the opposite effect: The moment her bra falls away, Bellamy goes completely still, only his eyes continuing to wander slowly over her exposed form, and Clarke is reminded of a phrase she always thought was a little cheesy before now: He’s drinking her in.

She squeezes her legs around his hips, startling him back into action with a sultry smile. Bending over her, he lets his lips drift lightly across the swell of her breasts before closing over one nipple, one hand coming up to stroke the other softly before rolling it between his thumb and index as he starts kneading her breast, still teasing her nipple with his tongue. The host of sensations is almost overwhelming, and Clarke’s hands flutter indecisively for a moment before she buries them in his hair to keep him in place. When he takes the hardening bud in between his teeth and tugs gently, her eyes slide shut on a moan, only to snap open again when he lets go. She’s about to instruct him to keep doing what he’s doing when she catches sight of the look on his face, a mix of admiration and desire that makes her breath catch in her throat.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

She laughs, slightly embarrassed by so much attention. “Fuck being the operative word, I hope.” Her words startle him into another one of those adorable pauses, little moments where it seems like he’s wondering if all of this is actually happening, and if her body wasn’t clamouring for _more_ , she’d be amused. As it is, she sits up, starts unbuttoning her pants and signals for him to do the same.

“Are you sure?”

She slips her pants and underwear down past her ankles and shakes them off, glad that she decided to wear light leather slippers instead of her laced-up boots today, and sits up so that she’s at eye-level with him. “Do I look like I’m not?” She cups his face and kisses him once more, slowly and sensuously, only breaking away when his hand slides down her stomach and in between her legs to find her thoroughly wet.

He grins. “No, I have to say you seem pretty sure.” His fingers dance teasingly across her sex, promising but never delivering, and soon enough she’s flushed and breathing heavily. His smug smile tells her he knows exactly what he’s doing, but he must have forgotten that two can play at this game. Clarke unbuttons his pants and slides a hand inside to squeeze him through the threadbare material of his boxers, chuckling when she feels his erection twitch eagerly under her hand.

That’s when he stops teasing and starts rubbing her clit in earnest; with firm, circular strokes that make her bury her head in his shoulder so she doesn’t moan out loud. Soon, two more fingers join his thumb, sliding through her slick folds before pushing inside, and she not-quite-accidentally bites into his shoulder. That makes him stop in his movements, and Clarke doesn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. Judging by the way she’s rocking against his fingers, Clarke guesses it’s the latter.

“Did you just _bite_ me?!”

“Only because you’re being unneccessarily cruel.”

“Am I now?” There is unmistakeable laughter in his voice. “Well, what yould Your Highness like me to do?”

“ _Your highness_ ,” she imitates his tone mockingly, “would like you to fuck her now.”

The speed with which he’s dropped his pants and underwear and positioned himself against her exactly mirrors her own level of frustration, but he’s _still_ teasing her, rubbing his length against her in a way that makes little shocks zap through her everytime his tip bumps against her clit. She runs her fingers teasingly over his back and down his sides and kisses the side of his neck once more, sucking on the tender pulse point in the hope that the motion will finally undo him, but apparently, his self-restraint far exceeds hers.

“Bellamy, please…” If Clarke still had the power to focus on anything but him, she’d be embarrassed to be reduced to begging. As it stands, she’s about to go mad, and when he finally starts pushing into her, she almost sobs with relief. It’s been a while for her though, and her body protests at the intrusion, clenching so tight that it hurts for a moment. Noticing her distress, he takes it slow, holding himself back by digging his fingertips into her hips and giving her time to adjust. He pauses for a moment when he’s buried completely inside her, kissing her deeply, before gently pushing her back down on the table as his thrusts gradually speed up and she feels him hitting just the right spot inside of her. Bending over her, he catches one nipple in his mouth again, sucking sharply, and soon enough, the tightness within her is anything but unpleasant.

Bellamy lets his lips drift upwards to press another kiss to her mouth before he leans his forehead against hers, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips pick up speed, and Clarke is suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer _intimacy_ of it. Everything he does, from the way he looks at her to the way one of his hands is interlaced with hers on the table, makes it feel like he’s not just fucking her but trying to become one with her, and she wonders if it should scare her but all coherent thoughts are soon drowned out by the tide of her impending orgasm. 

And then he leans back, creating enough space for his hand to sneak between them and find her clit once more, rubbing in the same steady circular motion as before, and it doesn’t take her long to tumble over the edge, no longer bothering to stifle her moan or to be embarrassed by the way Bellamy is watching her intently.

He slows down his thrusts while she rides out her orgasm, still stroking her idly. Once she no longer sees colours upon opening her eyes, she catches his hand to still its movement before the stimulation can become too much. He lets it roam across her body instead, over her hips and up her side, setting all of her oversensitive nerve endings on fire. His lips follow a similar path, lingering on her breasts and sending fresh sparks of desire through her, before fluttering over her collarbone, her neck, to her cheeks and forehead and finally to her lips.

Eagerly kissing him back, Clarke tightens her muscles around his cock, ridiculously proud of herself when he moans into her mouth. She repeats the motion with a languid smile, signalling that it’s his turn now, and he doesn’t need to be told again. Hooking his free hand under her shoulder to get a better grip on her, he picks up speed once more, thrusting into her with such force that she’s pretty sure she’d go sailing across the council table if Bellamy didn’t hold on to her, the increased friction sending orgasmic aftershocks through her. Running her free hand up and down his back, she clenches her muscles in a rhythm that matches his, and it doesn’t take more than a few more thrusts for him to buck forward with a groan, shuddering as he climaxes.

Bellamy stays slumped over her for several long, delightful moments, his head buried in her neck, his skin gloriously hot and sweaty against hers, his soft hair tickling her chin. She can feel his heart hammering in his ribcage, such an exhilaratingly vulnerable thing, and she’s struck once more by how much she loves this man.

In-between soft kisses she presses to his collarbone and shoulder, she says the next best thing that comes to mind that won’t reduce her to an emotional wreck:

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sit through a meeting at this table with a straight face again.”

Bellamy barks out a breathless laugh, the sound rumbling pleasantly through her body, and Clarke laughs too and feels like she’s going to _burst_ with happiness. But then he straightens up and slowly pulls out of her, leaving her feeling empty and weird and _wrong_ for a moment.

Clarke awkwardly slips off the table to go in search of her clothes, almost physically aware of the way his eyes follow her. By the time she’s managed to pull her pants back on again, feeling boneless and heavy with sated exhaustion, Bellamy is already completely dressed.  

“You know, I can’t say I haven’t imagined this exact same scenario a few times before.” Bellamy’s tone is light and conversational as he hands her the bra she has flung off the table earlier, and Clarke smiles at the chivalrous gesture.

“Have you now? And how long has that been going on?”

“Months, probably.”

Clarke tugs her shirt over her head as she takes in that unexpected piece of information.

“That long?” She had no idea. How could she have missed this? Well, to be fair, there was a lot going on lately. But still…

Head emerging from the shirt, she waits for his answer and finds him momentarily distracted: While she pulls the hem of her shirt down to her hips, his eyes follow it until the last bit of her stomach is covered up again. He looks slightly disappointed, she notices with satisfaction. 

“I can’t really pinpoint it. You kind of snuck up on me. Hell, it only started to dawn on me after you left.” And now he looks a little unnerved, avoiding eye contact as he nervously straightens out his clothes and pats down his hair which is sticking out in all directions, no doubt thanks to her. Clarke enjoys the sight immensely – there’s even a hint of a blush spreading across his cheekbones, which may be the most adorable thing she’s ever seen.

“Well, I’m glad I finally caught up.”

“Believe me, so am I.”

Again the awkward silence – why is this so difficult? Didn’t they say everything there is to say? But it seems if she wants a repeat of the amazing sex she just had – and she very, very much does want one – she’ll have to be brave just one more time.

“Do you… would you like to stay the night at my quarters?” Clarke suddenly feels like she’s thirteen again, asking a gorgeous Mecha girl for a dance at her first Unity Day party. Not that she seriously fears rejection at this point, but still…

With a broad grin, Bellamy steps towards her. “I’m glad you asked.” Putting his hands on her waist, he pulls her against him. “In fact, I have a few ideas for a repeat that I’d like to talk to you about…”

She cuts him off with a kiss, and they almost don’t make it back to her quarters at all.

 

***

Bellamy’s quarters would have been both nicer and bigger than the room Clarke has moved into inside the Ark after her return from Polis, but Clarke’s tiny one-person room is only a short walk away, and neither of them is particularly keen on having to cross the entire camp to get to his small hut near Raven’s gate.

It is much later in her quarters, after round three or possibly four, when he is curled around her and Clarke is starting to drift off to sleep, that Bellamy repeats the words that started all this:

“I love you too.”

“I know.” Clarke’s mumbled answer may not be the most diplomatic. But it is the truth, the most beautiful truth Clarke has ever known, as immovable and indestructible as the ground beneath them: Bellamy loves her, and she loves him. Burrowing more firmly into his side, Clarke falls asleep quicker than she has in months.


End file.
